


hot tub + home

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Becoming a family, Found Family, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Set pre-series and immediately post-Army, Jack and Bozer bond over movies, comfort food, and convincing Mac to buy a hot tub.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 60





	hot tub + home

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of my fam-dom friends who encouraged and indulged me in this Mac + Hot Tub idea. It turned out nothing like I thought it was going to be when I started writing it, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Jack claims that the hot tub was his idea. 

“It’d be real relaxing,” Jack says as he settles into an old aluminum folding chair on the deck. The garish orange and blue webbing creaks ominously under his weight. That’s the next thing he’s got to convince Mac of, new patio furniture, not relying on the stuff he salvaged from Harry’s garage. That worked in a pinch. In the first few weeks they were home and the walls were closing in and they just needed to be outside. Too exhausted, too relieved, too elated at being home to care. Now that they’ve settled into a semblance of a life and routine, an upgrade is in order. 

Jack hands over the brochures and sales catalogue he picked up. “Coming home from a hard mission and hopping in the spa. Perfect place to watch a sunset.”

“Spa?” Mac snorts, raising an eyebrow and accepting the glossy flyers Jack pushes into his grasp. He pages through a couple of them, elaborate setups with a built-in bar and towel warming rack, eyes bulging at the price tag.

“Sounds fancy,” Jack shrugs. “Your girlfriend might be more impressed than just callin’ it a hot tub.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Mac frowns, not looking up from the pictures.

“Yet, but I saw the way that blonde analyst has been eyeing you up the last couple of weeks.”

Mac ignores Jack’s teasing nudge, leaning back in his chair and propping up his leg, massaging the muscle above his knee that continues protesting most actions and also staying still.

Jack bites his tongue when Mac glances up and notices he’s being watched. The kid is prickly about the injury he doesn’t remember sustaining, shooting Jack warning glares from bringing it up, especially when Bozer is around. 

He refrains, for now, from suggesting that the hot tub might help his pain. 

Jack risks his life firing up the grill as a form of bribery. Enlisting Bozer’s help in winning Mac over as soon as he arrives home from his film class. 

Bozer raises an eyebrow, shifting in his seat as Jack passes him a burger. "You didn't have to do this. I could have..."

"Ah, it's no trouble. I like grilling. Haven't gotten much of a chance to do it since we got home," Jack slides into the seat next to Mac and squeezes a healthy dollop of ketchup onto his burger.

Mac shakes his head as he watches Bozer take off the top bun, inspecting the patty - Bozer takes his hamburgers pretty seriously, but so does Jack. Mac's expecting a ranting argument on the ratio of meat to bread crumbs of the correct use of spices.

Instead, Bozer carefully adds his toppings and takes a bite. "Oh," he murmurs in surprise. "This is- this is really good."

"Thanks dude," Jack beams. "I used your recipe with a few Dalton tweaks. We know our beef," Jack jokes. "Or should I say our Angus."

Mac rolls his eyes. "I thought you got the hamburger jokes out of your system downrange?"

"Guess I had one or two left in me."

"You used my recipe?" Bozer swallows, frowning.

"Yeah, added a few kicks of my own."

Bozer takes another slow bite, rolling it in his mouth, assessing the flavors.

"Tastes just like it," Mac says quirking an eyebrow.

Bozer ducks his head a bit, ignoring the look Mac is giving him. He pushes the rest of his burger aside and rifling through the pamphlets, finding the less expensive models. “You don’t have to get all the fancy add-ons for the hot tub. We don’t need a cooler or a stereo system, or a waterfall”

Jack tosses aside a few of the costlier options, and with them the dream of watching Die Hard on a big screen with surround sound while soaking on the deck. He pauses. Maybe he doesn’t have to entirely give up that dream. Give him an afternoon and Mac could figure out how to make that happen anyway. 

“If I zoomed in on those jets bubbling, I bet it’d look like a creature rising from the deep,” Bozer says. “I’d get an ‘A’ in this class for sure.”

“I could probably rig something up if you needed…” Mac begins.

“It wouldn’t have the same scope,” Bozer says, pushing another flyer closer to Mac. “Look at all these jets, man. It’s like eight jets per person.”

“Imagine that after a rough… day… thinking… in the think tank,” Jack says, waggling his eyebrows. 

"Isn’t that the same logic you used when you had me replace all the showerheads?” Mac studies specs. The showerheads were a good idea, Mac has to admit. One of the first things he replaced in the house when he got home from Afghanistan.

“Yeah, but this is gonna be way better,” Jack insists, wiggling the paper in front of his face with a _thwap, thwap, thwap._

Mac promises to think about it. 

Jack and Bozer frown at each other.

“That’s it we’re done,” Jack sighs. “It was a nice dream.”

“I said I’d think about it,” Mac protests.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean no,” Bozer says, holding out hope. 

“I’d like to use it while I’m still young and spry enough to hop in and out of it.”

“It’s a big commitment,” Mac argues. “And expensive.”

“You've got a good job,” Jack says.

“That I’ve only had for a few weeks,” Mac shakes his head. “I’m still figuring out if it’s a good fit. If I can… do everything they expect of me.”

“Hey, it’s not a good fit, then we find somethin’ else,” Jack promises. “But they’d be idiots not to work with ya to make it a good fit. Patty Thornton ain’t an idiot.” 

“I don’t have a degree, I’m lucky they-”

“Mac, you’ve been the smartest person I ever met since you were ten. Jack’s right, they’re lucky to have you.”

Director Thornton had been persistent in recruiting both of them. 

“There’s a lot of traveling involved in this job too. And you’ve got to keep track of the water and chemical levels.”

“You’ll love playing mad scientist with all those chemicals, checking the alkalinity and the bromance.”

Mac raises a surprised eyebrow. “... Bromine.” 

“See you’re already a natural.”

“How did you know that.”

“I’ve done some reading,” Jack explains.

One side of Mac’s mouth quirks upward. It does sound like Jack has already done some research, he’s not just jumping into this project and expecting Mac to figure it out.

“I can help while you’re gone,” Bozer offers. “How many out of state science conferences can they find to send you to?”

Mac exchanges a quick glance with Jack. “It sounded like a lot. And once my shoulder heals up more, there are plans for more fieldwork. Building wells and pumps, testing the water, checking dams.”

“You should see if your think tank will pay for the hot tub,” Bozer says, latching harder onto the idea. “It’s like extra practice with your fieldwork.”

“That’s a stretch,” Mac rolls his shoulder, loosening the stiffness that creeps into his joint. 

“Might be good for your arm and your leg,” Bozer suggests. “I know they’re still bugging you.”

“They’re fine,” Mac answers quickly, shutters closing over his expressive eyes. “Good as new.” He glances at Jack, daring him to disagree. 

Mac will let Jack think the hot tub in the backyard was due to his persistence. His carefully constructed arguments, and the leaving of flyers around the house to be found, including in the fridge, under his pillow and shoved into every other page of his latest _Popular Mechanics_ magazine. 

It was a PT session that left tears in his eyes as he pushed himself, muscles stretching, joints aching, but Jack doesn't need to know that. Determined and angry. Pushing aside self-pity that niggled in the back of his brain, taunting him to give up. 

“Alright, Mac, that’s it,” Abbey says stepping closer. 

“I can do more,” Mac grit his teeth, ignoring the instruction.

“Yeah, and hurt yourself enough that we have to take a step backwards. You are done.”

“We’ve still got twenty minutes,” Mac pants, leaning back against the bench, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to grab his shoulder.

“You’re gonna finish up in the hot tub.” 

Mac cracks an eyelid and stares up at his PT suspiciously. “Did Jack put you up to this?”

“What?”

“He’s been on me about buying a hot tub.”

Abbey laughs. “He didn’t ask me to try to convince you, but it’s not a bad idea.”

Mac huffs, closing his eye again. “It’s not, is it?”

“I have one at home and it’s great,” she pats his good shoulder. “Go try it out, see what you think.”

“He’s never going to shut up if I buy one.”

“He’s going to end up using it as much as you do, make him pay for half.”

“That might shut him up.”

“He always stays an extra fifteen minutes or so to use it after a session.”

Mac smirks. Studies a few schematics, reads a few owners manuals and about two weeks later is the proud owner of a new hot tub. 

* * *

It’s late… or maybe early. Either way, it’s too middle-of-the-night to be awake. Mac shoves a pillow between his knees, offering more support to his leg that throbs. An ache that’s bone-deep. A pain that he didn’t understand even a few months ago, when Harry used to complain about cold mornings and incoming storms. He inhales for four beats and holds it. Then exhales. Trying to push the pain out of his body with his breath through pursed lips. 

It radiates, down through his calf, past his ankle into his toes. Up past his knee, an electric shock through his thigh, pulsing in his hip. His lower back protests and his shimmies to relieve the pressure in his spine. 

Over-the-counter pain medication takes an edge off, but barely, not reaching deep enough into the marrow of his bones. And he’s not about to take something stronger that will make escape from his dreams impossible. 

Dreams that Bozer will try to investigate. Or call Jack about. When all he wants to do is forget. 

That’s irony. 

Dreams that are fractured, filled with fire and faces he barely remembers. Memories he can’t access, fears buried deep, and faults that Jack assures him are not his, but he can’t remember them. Not really. So, he can’t know for sure that the explosion that punched his ticket home wasn’t his doing. His mistake. 

His responsibility.

His doctors tell him not to force it. Not to push it. The memories will come back on their own. Or maybe they won’t. Maybe he’ll always be left with Swiss cheese in his brain where the memory of his last mission should be. 

He remembers Jack. 

An explosion that threw him, landing hard. The roar of flames under the ringing in his ears. Jack screaming his name from far away. Leaning over him, lips moving, saying something. Grasping at Jack’s hand on his chest. Something to anchor him. Something strong and safe because the heart that’s under Jack’s hand flutters, tremulous with fear. And he called for Jack.

He didn’t hear that either. Thick smoke. Hot sand beneath his back, scratching under the collar of his flak jacket. Pink, puckered skin, and he wonders how he got sunburnt so fast before he realizes it’s from the explosion. 

Mac gasps. His leg pulses in pain, pulling him back into his bedroom. The softness of his bed under his hand instead of coarse sand. The hum of the air conditioner. He shivers and pulls his blanket up to his ears. Bozer keeps the house cool. Which, after Afghanistan, he’s all for. But he also runs cool, and ends up dressing in fleece-lined sweatpants in the evening to stave off the chill. 

Jack says he hopes the memories don’t come back. It was bad enough to live through, Mac should accept the memory loss as a gift. But Jack doesn’t live with the suspicion that it might be his fault. 

Mac rolls onto his back, tucking the pillow under his knee and thigh. He shoves a hand into his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

He yanks the rice-filled heat-pack out from under his hip, having long gone cold. It helps when it’s just his hip aching, but now it’s creeping through his skeletal system, putting pressure on joints that don’t usually twinge. Maybe if he could pack himself head to toe, crawl into the heat pack, it would help. 

He’d take a hot shower but the idea of standing under the stream, on his leg isn’t appealing and not for first time wishes for a bathtub. 

Except he does have a tub. 

Mac turns over to glance at the blue numbers on his nightstand. It’s still early. But the hot tub is his. No one can tell him when he can use it. Or that it’s too early, or too late, or too cold outside. 

He flings back the blankets, shivering slightly and stumbles to his feet. Rummaging for and donning his swim trunks and snagging a towel. After a moment’s pause, he grabs another one. That’s the thing no one ever mentions when they talk about a hot tub. It’s decadent, sitting in the hot water, jets bubbling around you, but getting out is miserable. 

Maybe he needs some sort of terry cloth bathrobe. Or should build some sort of towel warming rack or tunnel to stay out of the elements. He can’t imagine shoveling snow to reach the tub, using it in below-freezing temperatures, but the salesman told him that in other cities where winters are frigid, hot tubs are especially popular. It makes his bones ache just thinking about the cold climates. He’d never leave the hot tub if he lived somewhere like that. 

Deep in thought, he eases his bedroom door open and pauses, listening for any sound to indicate he disturbed Bozer. Mac remembers him sleeping more soundly when they were kids. He was always jealous of that, how Bozer could turn off the light and be asleep minutes, if not seconds later. Mac doesn’t remember a time that he ever slept that easily. 

Gliding down the dark hallway, avoiding the floorboard that squeaks, he feels a bit like a kid sneaking out of the house. He pauses every few steps, listening to the silence, the distant click of the pool heater turning on, the house settling. He’s only been off crutches a few weeks, still building up strength in his leg so his stealth training has been minimal so far and he feels a little ridiculous sneaking through his own house. 

The glow from the light on the coffeemaker gives him enough light that he snags the key without knocking anything else off the shelf near the kitchen. Opening the door, he steps out into the night air, shivering lightly at the chill and the damp wood under his feet. 

He closes the door behind him and breathes a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when Bozer met Jack. 

There’s been a bit of sniffing at each other suspiciously. Sizing each other up, but it’s given way to light teasing to test the waters and easy camaraderie if not yet friendship. But they’ve bonded over their worry about him. 

Bozer was meant to be a caretaker. Always making sure everyone is fed and at ease. Carrying extra snacks in his backpack. A package of tissues. Kept toothbrushes in his locker at school. A stock of over-the-counter medications like tums, tylenol, and antihistamines. 

And Jack is Jack. 

They thoroughly entertain each other and seem to have a running competition about who can worry about the most mundane thing. 

And Mac is pretty sure that Bozer reports to Jack when he’s not sleeping. While Jack reports to Bozer when he skipped lunch because he was “too busy” or “not hungry.” They mean well. A delicate balance of getting in his face when he’s being dumb and stubborn, and letting him make his own mistakes. 

If their hovering really bothered him, Mac would do more than just roll his eyes. And they’d try to back off if he said they were overwhelming him. Sometimes, it's just nice to be taken care of. 

The world is quiet in a way that LA is usually not, even at four in the morning. Peaceful. The steady buzz of traffic is slowed. The noise of the city nightlife muted by the air thick with morning dew. 

The skyline is still awash with light. The city never really sleeps. Not entirely. But a hazy fog is draped across it, dampening the dazzle. Dark enough that the solar lights strung on the pergola twinkle as though they’re the only stars in the night sky.

It’s something he missed, moving from Mission City to LA, the stars. He never thought he’d be filled with longing for the Afghanistan sky. The way the stars shimmered and galaxies unfolded as pupils dilated in the dark. 

Crossing the deck, Mac’s toes curl in discomfort against the boggy wood. Bozer would tell him to wear shoes, so his damp feet didn’t become a magnet for every bit of debris lodged in the grain and tracking it into the pool. Also, so he didn’t get chilled. He unlocks the four-point latches of the cover, folding it back and sliding it off. It’s not heavy, but it’s awkward and his shoulder tweaks in protest. 

Steam rolls off the surface of the water, he can feel the heat from here and every muscle fills with longing and screams at him to _get in_. Right now. 

He takes the time to brush off his feet with a towel before climbing over the side. Jack says the next thing Mac should pick up for this spa is a set of floating beer koozies, but Mac decides a step is the priority. The walls aren’t that high, and with his height he can clamber over with ease, but his leg still protests the action even after weeks of PT. 

The skin of his cold feet prickles as they’re suddenly submerged in warmth, chasing up his legs as he slips further into the water. He can barely hold back a groan of satisfaction. 

There’s a rush through his head. He can visualize all of his blood vessels and capillaries opening as one with the heat, dropping his blood pressure for a moment before his body recovers equilibrium. He settles into the deepest seat in the corner of the tub. Water lapping against his shoulders. 

Mac tilts his head back, resting it against the edge of the tub with a sigh. Weightless in the water, limbs floating, easing the pressure in his joints. The heat chasing the ache from his bones. 

It feels forbidden. Like he’s skulking around, doing something he shouldn’t and he’s going to get caught and have to explain himself. James always made him feel like he was doing something wrong. Or stupid. Innocent things like making a bowl of cereal for breakfast were met with suspicious “what are you doings?” Playing pretend was frowned upon. He couldn’t believe the way Bozer’s parents encouraged his vivid imagination. Didn’t force him to examine why this daydream wouldn’t be viable in real life. Or make him write down the story to challenge his writing skills or vocabulary. Offered him old sheets or scraps of wood to use in his childhood games and didn’t tell him he was being wasteful. 

Mac still feels a sense of guilt when he’s enjoying himself without doing something that could be considered productive. 

Getting up early before the sunrise to lounge in the spa feels different than jumping in quickly in the evening after work or before bed. 

A leisurely start to his morning that he doesn’t deserve. Hasn’t earned yet. 

He shoves that thought aside. Tension leaking out of his muscles. His shoulders drop away from his ears where he tends to hold them when he’s hurting or stressed. His default posture. His jaw relaxes, mouth falling slack. The furrow on his forehead releases. 

Stretching his legs out, he props them on the seat opposite him. Toes playing with the soft stream of water coming from the jets. So soft it’s barely fluttering against his skin. He sighs again. 

Five stubborn stars light up the night sky. He wonders for a moment if they are satellites or airplanes but when their positions don’t change he accepts them for the small space miracles that they are. That he can see them through the smog and light pollution. 

Pulling a hand from the water, he searches for the buttons on the control panel that operate the jets. A moment later they kick on high and the water bubbles around him like a cauldron. The jets pound against the muscles on his back. He groans and shifts lower, allowing the jets access to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Mist rises from the tub, tingling against his cheek. 

He’s not going to admit it outloud, but Jack is probably a genius. Convincing him to get this hot tub is better than any idea he’s ever had. 

He nudges the heat up a few degrees and sinks deeper, up to his ears, allowing his mind to drift. Focusing on nothing except the way the stress leaks from his body. 

He’s not being dramatic when he thinks he could stay like this forever. 

Shadows fade and he drowses. Warm and safe. Oblivious to the way the sky turns from navy to blush as sunbeams lighten the horizon.

Mac’s head dips. Water burbles against his lips and he wakes with a snort. Blinking hard as the solar lights click off. 

Coughing, he scrubs at his face. It’s later than he expected. He should probably get out. Start the day. 

Get out before Bozer finds out he was out here before dawn because the pain kept him from sleeping. Bozer doesn’t really understand that the relief pain medication might, but is not guaranteed to bring, isn’t worth the risk that he might not be able to break free from a nightmare. 

Odds are, he’ll mention it to Jack. Either purposefully, or in passing. Worried that Mac isn’t sleeping, or proud that the hot tub helped with his discomfort. 

Jack will know that he’s not sleeping, and he’ll get… not a lecture, but concerned eyes turned in his direction and he wants that less than he doesn’t want to get out of the pool. 

The worst thing about a road trip, is driving home at the end of it. The worst thing about a hot tub is getting out. Mac’s seen cold. Winters in Massachusetts are brutal. Even Afghanistan was surprisingly cold in the winter months. He can’t really call LA cold, but there’s an early morning chill that’s not going to be fun when he’s all warm and relaxed. 

An early morning breeze caresses his cheek before it’s chased away by the steam. Taunting him for what’s to come. 

He’s going to do this fast. Jump up. Wrap himself in a towel and run into the house. Once he’s warm and dry again he’ll come back out and close everything up. 

Mac huffs a few deep breaths, gathering his courage against the cold.

It's really not going to be fun.

His face scrunches up.

"Count of three," he warns himself and takes another deep breath. "One. Two..."

On three he pops up out of the water. Goosebumps erupting on his skin as soon as he breaches the surface. Hands planted on the edge of the pool and vaults over the lip. His skin prickles with cold. There’s a rushing feeling through his head again. His feet land on the damp frigid planks and he resists the urge to yelp. His vision darkens as though the sun is dipping back down behind the horizon instead of rising and he follows it. 

Landing hard on the coarse wood boards.

* * *

His momma always said she just knew when Jack was going to do something dumb. No shrieking warning or flashing lights. Nothing she could pinpoint in Jack’s posture or demeanor that bespoke of his intentions of acting on an impulse. Just a quiet thought that would cross her mind _“Jacky’s about to get himself in trouble.”_

And she was right. 

While Jack was prone to impulsivity, that early alert system would have been put to better use had his momma been able to sense when his brother was doing to do something dumb. 

Jack didn’t understand it. How he could come home, torn t-shirt carefully hidden under a jacket and she would just know. 

She would kiss his cheek before he left for school and scold him not to pick a fight, and three hours later he’d be scuffling in the dirt, wondering how she knew. 

He’d stumble back to base, blurry vision and ears ringing, dragging teammates behind him just in time for his turn to check his email and find a message momma sent at three in the morning her time. Telling him to be careful.

Pushing forty-years-old and he still couldn’t figure how she managed to do that. 

Until he met a bomb nerd with a silly hamburger name. 

And it pissed him off. There he was, at the end of his career and now his momma’s weird superpower decides to manifest itself. Wasn’t there for Thorpe, or Worthy, Sarah or Matty, but he can take one look at this dumb kid and know that he’s going to get himself into trouble before the day is out.

And he is right. 

Every time.

Doesn’t matter how many times he told this kid not to go wandering off, stop running his mouth, quit picking fights, Jack was always dragging him out of trouble by the scruff of his neck. 

“Hey,” Jack smacked Mac’s chest as soon as he finished looking him over, content that the crease in his arm was the extent of his injuries. His heart rate finally slowing. “Thought we talked about this. You can’t go scampering off on a whim like that. You need to wait for me to get into position or this,” he fingers the blood-flecked tears in his fatigues, “is gonna end up a lot worse off than a scratch.”

Mac rolled his eyes, the beginnings of a snarky protest on his lips.

“I’m serious,” Jack pushed further into Mac’s space. “You can’t keep doing this, Mac. I ain’t gonna be here forever and the next guy watching your back might not be as good as me. I don’t want to hear that they sent you home in a box. Not after I finally got you all squared away.” 

Jack doesn’t know if that was the start or the end of the debate that led to him grabbing his rucksack and stalking off the transport plane, ignoring the yelling of his name. All he knew for sure, if he didn’t get off this plane right the hell now, he’d be in his dress blues, standing in the California sunshine, meeting some kid named Bozer who wasn’t even given a body to bury. 

He understands what his momma meant. It’s not a tingle in his brain, or a shiver in his spine, it’s just knowing that Mac is in trouble. It’s a relaxing, early morning drive with the windows down and Steven Tyler screaming “Walk this Way” on the radio one minute and the next, pressing his foot on the gas a little more firmly because Mac is in distress. 

The house is intact when he arrives. No fire trucks, ambulances, or police cars. No broken windows, flames, or smoke. The neighborhood is quiet. Only a house or two beginning to wake on this Sunday morning. The blue haze of pre-dawn shadows giving away to gold. 

Jack swings the Stingray into the driveway, wishing for a moment he had the space the GTO offered instead, just in case he’s doing a wrap and run to the hospital this morning. 

He parks. The rumble of the engine fades. The world remains quiet. He scans the street and the yard as he gets out of the car. Resisting the urge to run to the door. He’s had this Mac-in-distress feeling for anything from Mac having a nightmare to burning himself on a cup of coffee, and he scared Bozer half to death by bursting through the front door, managing to holster his gun before the startled roommate had a chance to process it. 

He also had this feeling their last mission in the Sandbox before they were medevaced home. 

Jack’s steps quicken to a jog. 

Pausing at the front door, he decides on a light tap. Mac’s policy is “family don’t knock” but it’s before seven on a Sunday morning. Sometimes, even family should offer a warning. 

Pushing through the unlocked door, he should talk to Mac about that again, LA isn’t Mission City and he’s not just a retired vet working for a think tank. Jack stalks into the house, ears attune for a whimper of nightmare or pain. 

The smoke alarms are silent, but there’s a rumble of voices coming from the deck. Jack follows them. 

“I’m fine,” Mac is growling and Jack rolls his eyes. His boy is probably very much not fine. “Bozer, stop. I’m alright.”

“I found you on the ground, bleeding,” Bozer’s normally excited voice half an octave higher as he argues. 

Jack hops up the stairs, eyes scanning the deck. Mac is bare-chested, leaning against the railing of the deck. Blood flecks on his face and he’s gently shoving Bozer away. Bozer stands his ground and presses further into Mac’s space, holding a towel against Mac’s forehead. 

“I was down for a second. I’m fine.”

There’s a dark puddle under Mac that has Jack’s heart racing as he steps closer. His blond hair is damp and his face is pale. Fine tremors rocking him. 

“What the hell happened?” 

Mac is awake and talking. Arguing. But he’s seen Mac argue when he’s half-unconscious and his brains scrambled from an explosion. He’s upright though, eyes are open. His words aren’t slurred. He’s not gasping for breath or in pain, Jack assesses in the thirty seconds he’s had eyes on Mac. He tamps down on his worry. Mac is alright bristling under the unwanted attention. 

“Jack!” Bozer exclaims, whirling around while Mac rolls his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Mac uses the distraction to push up from the railing. 

“Nah, sit down,” Jack puts a hand on Mac’s shoulder, nudging him back down. Blinking in surprise at the cool, clammy skin under his touch. He frowns, leaning closer. “What’s going on?”

Mac pulls a trembling, blue lip between his teeth. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

"Yeah, heard that verse before, why don’t you fast forward to the chorus,” Jack tipping his chin up, posturing. Challenging. Mac’s jaw tightens as he meets Jack’s gaze. Neither speaks. It’s not the first time he’s had to out-wait Mac’s stubbornness. On first glance, Jack is prone to emotional outbursts. He can talk a mile a minute, boisterous and excitable. It’s easy to forget Jack’s skill set. To overlook the inward calm for the outward turbulence. 

Mac is one of the few people who has ever truly given Jack’s sniper patience a run for his money that’s not just for show.

Bozer watches the stalemate. His features warring between concern and annoyance as he looks at Mac. Familiar with his ‘I’m fine’ routine, ignoring any pain and shoving aside any attention focused on his well-being. His dark eyes flash with something else when his gaze turns to Jack. Folding his arms and watching how he responds to Mac. As though he’s weighing him, his care for Mac, and finding him wanting. 

“I found him,” Bozer interrupts the display of testosterone and obstinance with a shake of his head. “Out here. Laying on the ground. Bleeding.”

“Head wounds bleed, Bozer. I’ve had-” Mac cuts himself off. “It’s not that bad.”

Jack frowns. 

“But roommates don’t find each other lying unconscious on the deck,” Bozer huffs. Arms flailing. 

“I wasn’t unconscious,” Mac’s eyes flick to Jack. “I wasn’t.” He turns his attention back to Bozer. “I got up too fast. Probably went orthostatic, but I didn’t lose consciousness.” 

Jack scans the deck again, half the story falling into place as he notices the uncovered hot tub. He reaches behind him for the discarded towel and drapes it over Mac’s shoulders, that he realizes are shaking from cold, not from shock. The puddle that grows under him, not blood loss but drip-drying from a dip in the pool. 

Jack lays a hand over Bozer’s on Mac’s forehead, peeling back the towel, getting a look at the wound. “Gonna have a decent goose egg there.” He presses Bozer’s hand back down, reapplying pressure, and leans forward. Hand cupping Mac’s cheek and gently tugging down his lower eyelid. “You’re sure you didn’t pass out?”

“It went dark for… a second, but I never lost consciousness,” Mac insists, voice deepening in frustration. 

“You didn’t bust up anything else, did ya?” Jack runs a hand down Mac’s collarbone to his recently healed shoulder and arm. “Just got you back in one piece again.”

“I fell on the other side,” a small grin twitches on Mac’s lips. 

“You mess up that leg?” Jack crouches. Mac’s skin is reddened and abraded. “Tore up that knee pretty good.”

“Superficial.”

Jack hums, fingers palpate the joint, extending and flexing his knee. “Hip?”

Mac tips his head back with a sigh. “It’s fine.”

“Jack?” Bozer tears his gaze away from Mac to meet Jack’s eyes. Putting aside his suspicious gaze and deferring to Jack’s field medicine experience. “He okay?”

“Why don’t you take a little walk for me,” Jack gestures for Mac to move then crosses his arms to wait.

“I still have a limp,” Mac reminds him. “That’s not new.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re familiar with it,” Jack wiggles a finger between himself and Bozer and takes a step back to give Mac a clear path. “Go on.”

Mac shrugs off the towel, letting it drop onto the railing behind him. He moves slowly, meeting Jack’s eyes as he stands and raises his eyebrow. Daring Jack to comment on his lack of speed. 

He takes a glacial step forward, playing that tentative stride as defiant disobedience. That it’s just easier for him to give in to Jack’s ridiculous and unreasonable demands. Meeting Jack’s eyes as he metaphorically drags his feet. 

Jack lets him throw his little tantrum, instead focuses on his gait. Noting the relief that floods Mac’s eyes that he tries to shutter, when his leg holds steady and there’s no searing pain with his steps. Now that he knows he’s as fine as he claimed, he turns back to his friends with an insolent flourish. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, let Bozer clean up those cuts on your knee and your forehead. You’ve got a first aid kit around here, right? Didn’t abscond with the hydrogen peroxide to make a bomb or something?”

“We’re fully stocked,” Bozer pipes up. “I’ve been friends with Mac a long time. I always keep a backup.”

Jack claps Mac’s shoulder. “Get cleaned up. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Man, this feels like when we were kids,” Bozer says leading the way. “Never thought I’d still be putting bandaids on your knees.”

Mac sighs, looking at Jack for a reprieve before following Bozer into the house and warning, “I’m not sitting on the counter.” 

Jack smiles watching the boys disappear down the hall before turning into the kitchen. Bozer, he’s discovered, is a phenomenal cook, and the waffle king. Jack’s not going to attempt to claim that title but he makes a mean breakfast skillet. 

He rummages through the vegetable crisper to add some color to the eggs. Mac still needs protein and vitamins for healing. Jack never thought the kid would discharge from the Army and lose weight. Not when given additional opportunities to eat, and meals that weren’t packaged, but after his injuries, that’s exactly what he did. 

Eggs and veggies sauteing in the skillet, Jack eyes the toaster on the counter with distrust. He tips it forward, looking at the coils and gives it a little shake. It doesn’t look like it’s been modified. Nothing rattles too loudly, or explodes at his touch, but he grabs the fire extinguisher from under the sink, just in case, before he plops in a few slices of bread. 

He smiles to himself as he hears playful arguing and laughter coming from down the hall. Bozer knows how to draw a smile from his friend. An intimate knowledge borne of life-long friendship and history. 

He can’t help the pangs of jealousy in his chest. Bozer who got in on the ground floor of Mac’s trust and friendship before life started taking pot-shots at him. Has been the only constant in Mac’s life and Jack’s not going to begrudge them that closeness, especially when Mac has no one else. He’s not going to ruin the gift he’s been given with envy but he wonders if Mac turned hurting blue eyes on Bozer’s face and asked himself every day if Bozer was going to leave him too? Did he ever look at Bozer with the same doubts he aims in Jack’s direction? Did Bozer have to promise that he’d never leave or did Mac intrinsically know and trust those words because Bozer was there before the hurt was?

Did he have to fight for every ounce of trust the kid gave him? Hold onto it with both hands because he was scared of messing it up.

Jack scraps the pan harder than he needs to, pushing aside the lump in his throat and blinking hard at tears that burn behind his eyelids as he plates the meal, before wandering down the hall. Following the easy laughter to Mac’s room.

Jack goes for humor when he taps on the open door to the bathroom. “You kids just about done in here? You aren’t getting into trouble, are ya?” 

Gauze and tape spills out of the first aid kit, across the vanity countertop. Mac is perched on the closed lid of the toilet and raises a disapproving eyebrow, nearly hidden under what is probably a too big bandage that pushes his still damp bangs into a swoosh that would make teenage heartthrobs jealous. Jack has to swallow down his amusement. 

“Yeah, all set,” Bozer smooths the last bandaid over Mac's knee.

“Cool,” Jack says, grabbing a t-shirt and tossing it to Mac, before leading them down the hall to the kitchen. “Get ready for scrambled eggs a la Jack. With orange peppers, spinach, some onion-”

“Oh, Mac doesn't like onion,” Bozer interrupts in concern, stopping at the counter and scanning the ingredients spread across the top. “I should have mentioned that. I can make something else.”

Jack looks at Mac in surprise. “You never said…”

“Actually, I kind of like them,” Mac shrugs, sliding into his seat at the table. 

“What? When did that happen? You were so vocally against them growing up. It was like an introduction point. Please call me Mac. I’m a genius and I hate onions.” Bozer teases, but he swallows hard. 

“I never called myself a genius.”

“Don’t have to,” Jack mumbles, salting his eggs. “Anyone who knows you for two seconds realizes you're a progeny.”

“Prodigy,” Mac replies absently, tucking heartily into his eggs. “And I’m not. You shouldn’t add that much salt.” 

“You pick them out of everything, even spaghetti sauce and Sloppy Joe’s.” 

“Maybe not formally, but you out think and can talk circles around everyone. And after living on MREs for most of my life, adding a little salt isn’t gonna kill me,” Jack watches the discussion between Mac and Bozer.

“Guess they grew on me,” Mac shrugs. “After MREs, anything tastes pretty good.”

Bozer frowns. “You didn’t mention that.” 

“Sorry, Bozer,” Mac slides into his seat at the table. “I guess with everything… it didn’t come up.”

“I made chili last week.”

Mac laughs. “You don’t put onions in your chili.”

“Cause you hate onions. I’ve modified a lot of recipes over the years because you’re picky.” 

“That’s a good friend,” Jack comments. “My momma had a rule, ‘you get what you get.’ Always said she wasn’t running a restaurant. If you want it your way you can go to Burger King.” 

Bozer smiles but the meal feels subdued. 

Jack clears the dishes when they finish, filling the sink with sudsy water. Mac heads outside to check the water levels and finish covering the pool. Bozer sits at the table, glancing at Mac through the window.

Jack scrubs his scruff as he watches Bozer.

He’s bonded with Bozer over the last several weeks, both enjoy movies, cooking comfort food, and have a soft spot for MacGyver. The common denominator in... whatever it is they are... is Mac. They haven’t quite figured out their friendship yet. 

Circling each other carefully. It’s friendly, but they’re sizing each other up. Judging the other’s interaction with Mac. How he responds to them. Both are used to be the person watching out for him. It’s hard to admit that there’s someone else now… too… Someone else who knows Mac. Cares about him. Worries about him and wants to make Mac laugh. Considers Mac his best friend.

Two different periods of Mac’s life converging at one point. 

Bozer will always know things about Mac that Jack never will. Was there for the trauma of losing his dad and essentially, being orphaned. Cried with him when he lost Harry. Survived high school and bullies, acne and first crushes together. Building forts and dreaming about the future. Children together and growing up. Together. 

Jack will always understand things that thankfully Bozer can’t. Understands the horror of a bomb he couldn’t stop, knows what it feels like to hold lives in his hands. Cried with him in fear and full of homesickness. Grieved for the boy that he’ll never be again after looking death in the eye. After taking a life. Survived convoys and insurgents, shrapnel and MREs. Facing his own mortality and the uncertainty that he’d make it home alive. Changed. Never again the boy who left home.

Both influential in shaping the man Mac has become. 

They’re friendly. But they aren’t friends. Not yet. Maybe someday. 

Jack is an emotional guy. Has a distinct lack of boundaries when it comes to the people he loves, but he doesn’t know what he feels about Bozer yet. He doesn’t know if it’s his place to pry. Doesn’t know if he wants to. 

He rubs the back of his neck as he watches Bozer start to rise determinedly from his seat and freeze. Lose his nerve and sink back down. 

He does care about Mac though. And Bozer is important to Mac. 

“You okay?”

Bozer looks up, surprised. “Yeah. of course.” He blusters.

Jack mentally shakes his head. Did he think he’d ask if Bozer was alright and the kid would just start spilling his thoughts? Interrogation isn’t really his thing - unless he’s holding someone off a building by their ankles and he doesn’t think Mac or Bozer would appreciate that - but he’s better at it than this. 

“Just seems like something’s on your mind. Thought I…” he trails off as Bozer glares at him. The message is clear. Mind his own business. 

Fine. Whatever. He was just being nice. Trying to do something nice for a friend of Mac’s. If Bozer wants to blow him off that’s no skin off his nose. 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. Mac was never forthcoming with anything, even as kids.”

Jack blinks as Bozer cracks. Maybe he is better at this psychological interrogation than he thought. Matilda Webber can eat her words. 

“He’s not really an easy person to get to know. Took us a while.”

“There are times I wonder if we became friends just because he didn’t know how to tell me no,” Bozer smiles at the memory. “Didn’t know how to get rid of this other kid who just decided that he was gonna be his friend.”

“Mac’s got that effect on people. I decided you’re my friend and now you’re stuck with me,” Jack’s lips twitch with his own memories. “Guess I ended up doing the same thing.”

“I’m just… I’m not ready to give him up.”

Jack frowns. “What…”

“He’s got you.”

“Bozer-”

“We used to tell each other everything, you know? We were always together. He practically lived at my house. Did for a while when Harry wasn’t doing so well and now it’s like… he doesn’t need me.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack frowns, shaking his head, astounded that Bozer has been experiencing the same feelings jealousy watching Mac's friendship with him. “You guys are roommates. You’re still together constantly. I can get here at first light, not leave until it’s dark and I’m still going to miss out on stuff. The every day, living life, eating cereal over the kitchen sink stuff. You get to do that with him.” 

“I used to know everything about him. Everything he’s been through but now, sometimes he wakes up from a nightmare and it’s like he can see monsters and demons in the dark that I can’t even imagine and I’m grateful that I can’t see the things that he sees. I’m grateful that I don’t wake up screaming from nightmares. What kind of friend is that?”

Jack sinks into the chair across from Bozer. “Hey. Hey. Listen to me okay. Listen, that’s not… you aren’t…” Jack shakes his head. “Mac is grateful for that too. Okay? I mean, I would give anything if he didn’t need to know what that… what that felt like.” 

His chest feels tight at the words. At the implication. Freeing Mac from that horror would prevent Jack from ever meeting him. And he would do it, in a heartbeat.

“I know what I’m talking about, Bozer,” Jack continues, interrupting his own rambling thoughts and Bozer’s musings. “He’s grateful that you can sleep through the night, that you don’t hear a loud noise that sends you spiraling into some sort of post traumatic stress response. Okay? That you don’t see a plastic bag fluttering on the road and panic that you’re about to roll over an IED. It would kill him, seeing that fear in your eyes.”

“But I have nothing to offer him when he freaks out.”

“Bozer. You’re safety. Stability. He needs that. More than… more than anything else,” Jack swallows. This is about Bozer. This is about what’s best for Mac, not his petty feelings of envy. Not wishing that he could have been a part of Mac's life sooner.

“I want to be, but it doesn’t feel like it.” Bozer looks towards the window again. “He won’t talk about it. He has a nightmare and he calls you. And you guys are on the phone for hours. Or you come over and sit out on the deck. You guys get quiet if I try to join you. And I’m not begrudging that. I get the brothers in arms. I get that I can’t understand but he doesn’t trust me to try.”

“It’s not that,” Jack shakes his head.

“It feels like it is.”

“It’s not.” Jack states firmly. Decisively. His eyes boring into Bozer’s. Steely and granite. His mouth set in a hard line. 

Bozer glares back, holding Jack’s stare. After a moment his determined gaze withers and Jack softens his own. 

“In the middle of our worst days, he wanted to make it home to you. On days when he thought he wouldn’t, he made me swear that I’d look after you if something happened to him. You’re safety and security in ways I could never be. You are home. And in some way, that I don’t think even he understands, he did what he did to protect you. He thought he could make the world a safer place for you.” 

“I didn’t need him to do that. And now he won’t even let me try to help.”

Jack taps two fingers against the table top, making a decision. Letting Bozer breach his defenses.

“My pop was a pilot in Vietnam. He never talked about what happened over there. Not really. I probably got some watered down bedtime stories about heroic rescues and the time he flew a mission with a flock of chickens in the cockpit, but the stuff that kept him up in the middle of the night, I don’t know if he ever told anyone about those things. I kind of thought when I joined up that I’d come home some day and we’d talk about it. He’d finally share everything he went through and I’d tell him about my tour. But we didn’t. Cause even though he could probably guess at some of the stuff I saw, I couldn’t bear to tell him about it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t need him.” 

Bozer nods slowly. “I knew things would be different. I knew he’d change but I guess I sort of hoped that it’d just go back to the way things were.”

“I think he might be thinking the same thing about you.”

“I haven’t changed." Bozer gives an amused shake of his head at the idea.

“Maybe not as much, but you’re still not the same guy he left behind.” 

Bozer’s nose wrinkles as he considers Jack’s assertion. “I guess.”

“People are always changing. Even if he’d never left you still wouldn’t be the same people you were when you were kids.”

“Well, yeah. I know that.” Bozer is still young enough to portray the right amount of _‘duh’_ in his tone. “It just feels so different sometimes.”

“Yeah, but the way I heard you two laughing as you put bandaids on his knee, that didn’t sound so different. Sounded like coming home. ” 

“Well, taking care of Mac, that doesn’t feel so different,” Bozer looks out the window at his friend again. “It felt pretty right.”

Jack nods. Taking care of Mac does feel right. Feels like it fills a hole in his heart he never knew was there.

“He’s changed a little, but he is still Mac.” 

“Did he always blow up toasters?”

“I wish I could say that was a new development, but it’s not,” Bozer chuckles. “Harry used to buy old toasters and appliances from second-hand shops to give to him so he would leave the ones in the kitchen alone.”

“They probably should have done that in the mess hall. Would have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and a few explosions,” Jack joins in on the laughter. 

“I’m glad he had you, Jack,” Bozer says sincerely. “I worried about him. Always did, but after he started talking about you I didn’t worry as much.”

“You mean complaining about me?”

“Yeah, he was pretty pissed at you at first. Thanks for not letting him push you away.”

“Thank you for always being there for him, in a way that no one else ever was.” Jack’s voice feels hoarse. He coughs to clear the lump in his throat. 

“I just… I don’t know what to do now. How to be what he needs now.”

“Do what you’ve always done.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough.”

“It’s a starting point. You’ll both make some mistakes but you’ll get it. Find that new equilibrium. Merge the old and the new and figure out how you two fit together again.”

Bozer nods, contemplating Jack’s advice with a thoughtful look on his face. “And maybe, figure out how to merge a new friend into that family. Because despite my jealousy at your bond, he needs you too.”

“I kind of feel like I’m the one who needs him most days.”

Bozer meets Jack’s eyes with understanding. “Yeah, me too.” 


End file.
